


Porcelain

by yeaka



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Blow Jobs, Ficlet, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2019-10-16
Packaged: 2020-12-20 16:36:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21059786
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Hugh wonders if there are side effects to the spore drive.





	Porcelain

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: **Fair warning** that I’ve only seen a few eps of S1. If anyone more knowledgeable on Discovery is up for a chat about it, please let me know.
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own Star Trek or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

There’s a standing invitation not to stay up for each other, because they’re on a busy ship _at war_, and there’s no telling how late their shifts can run. On top of that, they’re both beyond professionals—they’re fully invested in their careers, and Paul especially is obsessed with his work. So Hugh really should just go to sleep. Except he knows Paul has to come home _sometime_, and they really need to talk. 

He tries to occupy himself with a book, but after a while, the paragraphs all blur together. He asks the computer to read it out to him, but he’s still not ingesting it. Finally, he gives up, and just sits on the bed in silence, his legs throw over the side and his elbows resting on them, hands clasped together. He doesn’t want to get any more comfortable. He wants his mind as sharp as possible when Paul finally walks through the door.

The doors hiss open, and Hugh straightens up. Paul spots him immediately and dons the sort of bright, adoring smile that Hugh used to have to work so much harder for. Paul’s always been affectionate in private, but never _bubbly_, _never_ easy. Now his blue eyes glimmer with the sort of carefree attitude that has been cropping up here and there over the past few days and is so, so _not_ Paul Stamets. 

He beelines for the washroom, but Hugh stops him with a simple, “Paul.”

Paul turns back and hums, “Hm?”

“We need to talk.”

One blond brow lifts. Despite his pale complexion, Paul’s face is wonderfully expressive. Hugh can’t detect any worry in it, though Paul notes, “That sounds ominous.”

Hugh pats the bed beside him. Changing, brushing teeth, and even sleeping can wait. Paul walks towards him but doesn’t take a seat. 

Instead, he leans down, grabs Hugh’s face in both his hands, and bruises a fierce kiss across Hugh’s lips. Hugh opens mostly in surprise, and then Paul’s tongue is in his mouth, avidly licking at his walls. _That_ part isn’t wrong—he’s had these fearsome, hungry kisses from Paul before, and the juxtaposition of Paul softly thumbing his cheek is a familiar one. For a moment, Hugh’s guard falls. He surrenders to the gentle scrape of Paul’s teeth along his lower lip and the way that Paul sucks him in. He even kisses back, and hates it when Paul pulls away. 

Paul ducks to kiss below Hugh’s chin. He nips at Hugh’s throat. Hugh mutters, “_Paul_—” then cuts off when Paul’s hands fall to his lap. He _knows_ he’s being shut up. Paul’s trying to distract him. But it’s been too long, and it’s working. 

He’s already changed into his nightclothes, and his loose pajama bottoms and boxers aren’t enough protection against Paul’s eager hands. Paul lowers down to his knees and cups Hugh between his legs, squeezes lightly, and tugs at the neck-hole of his shirt to mouth along his shoulder. Hugh’s hands have already drifted into Paul’s hair without him realizing it. He threads through the short tufts and finds himself trying to guide Paul downwards, even though he _knows_ this isn’t what he wanted. Except he _always_ wants Paul. Paul slips one hand right beneath his boxers and murmurs into the crux of his throat, “_’Love you._”

Hugh grits his teeth but automatically answers, “Love you too, babe.” He really does. He moans as Paul’s warm fingers close around his shaft, thumb expertly stroking the base. He grunts as Paul pulls him out into the open air, dipping his pants and boxers just low enough to free the rod, the rest still trapped inside. Then Paul is kissing down his body, lifting the hem of his shirt to make room. 

He groans when Paul’s mouth makes it to his stomach, and then Paul really is mouthing the rest of the way, licking and sucking lewd pink circles right down into the dark hair around his base. Paul’s hand closes entirely around the shaft, and then his head pulls back to lick the tip. Watching that is enough to make Hugh forget everything that he was going to say. His world hones down to just that one image: Paul on his knees, cheeks flushed and eyes dilated, looking up through clear lashes to smile handsomely at Hugh. 

Paul opens wide. Hugh fights not to buck forward. The cloying wet heat of Paul’s mouth closes in around him, snaking pleasure up his spine. His fingers dig into Paul’s scalp, fighting the urge to shove Paul down. Paul takes him in one torturous bit at a time. He can feel Paul’s velvety tongue lapping at his underside, and then his tip finally nudges the back of Paul’s throat, and then it occurs to Hugh that Paul _never_ takes him this deep. 

Paul is now. He hasn’t made a single complaint about Hugh’s length or girth. He hasn’t complemented Hugh’s restraint either. His lips are stretched so wide that it’s hard to tell, but Hugh thinks that they’re smiling. 

Paul swallows around him, and Hugh forgets the differences. He focuses back in on just the sheer ecstasy of it. Paul buries himself between Hugh’s legs, sucks _hard_, then starts to pull away. Hugh stares, entranced, as Paul fucks himself on Hugh’s cock with impressive efficiency. He slides almost all the way off, pushes right back down, takes Hugh to the very edge. When Paul’s eyes flicker up, they’re vaguely triumphant through their haze of lust, and _that’s_ the Paul Hugh knows. Hugh mutters a swear beneath his breath and breaks eye contact, because he can’t take any more. 

He shudders. He’s getting close already. Paul knows everything he likes. Every trick in the book. Paul sucks at him so skillfully. He lets out a breath, strained, “_Paul_...”

He can see the smirk trying to form. Paul gives a final, brutal suck, and Hugh cries out and bursts. He doesn’t have the wherewithal to warn Paul or push him off. He just spasms in Paul’s tight mouth and pours himself down Paul’s waiting throat. 

Paul swallows the entire thing. He gulps down one load after the other and keeps sucking on Hugh afterwards. For the first few seconds afterwards, Hugh’s too dizzy to notice or care.

Then reality slowly ebbs back to him. He feels _so good_. Completely boneless. It seems silly that he was ever going to complain. Paul lingers around Hugh’s wilting cock, then slowly slides off. Strings of clear saliva coat his lips. He wipes them off on the back of his sleeve. His _uniform_ sleeve.

Hugh croaks, “You swallowed.”

“I did,” Paul agrees, like it’s nothing. He lovingly tucks Hugh away, straightening his pants out afterwards, even smoothing over the area to make it look like nothing happened. Except it definitely did. 

“You hate swallowing. You always say it’s unsanitary.”

“You’re the doctor,” Paul counters. “Is it?”

Hugh blinks. He’s starting to feel cold again, even though he was burning up a second ago. He quietly asks, “You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

Paul just smiles. It’s a beautiful thing that makes it hard to question him. He leans up on his knees, hands steadying himself on Hugh’s legs, and he kisses Hugh’s cheek.

Then he pushes up to his feet and leaves towards the washroom.


End file.
